


lieder in the rain

by courante



Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28217994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courante/pseuds/courante
Summary: I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.- Haruki Murakami,Norwegian WoodA collection of Breddy AU drabbles.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. everything that is holy

**Author's Note:**

> some of these will be stuff that's been crossposted from twitter, but it's all gonna be a) breddy, b) different alternate universes (...very self-indulgent niche ones that that), because that's uh. the only thing i write now apparently haha /hj
> 
> content & trigger warnings will vary by chapter and will be posted at the beginning of each, please lmk if there's anything i should warn for specifically if i've missed them.
> 
> and as always, everything contained herein is entirely fictional & please don't read further if your name comes up in the tags, thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> devilman au (akira!eddy x ryo!brett ... kind of, i guess)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: angst, religious themes

—He was beautiful as the day he fell from Heaven, you were sure of that.

The world was aflame, but you didn’t care; or you thought you did, and pretended that was what lived in your anger when you approached him on that winding mountain road. It was supposed to be you and him, hand in hand against the world and every evil that inhabited it. He wasn’t supposed to— he wasn’t—

It did not matter now; that melody was a distant memory. You stood at the cliffside and looked up and he seemed so sad, you thought. Even now you wanted to make it better, reach out and hold him like you had as children, even if it would amount to nothing but your own destruction. None of those thoughts made the tumbling waves inside you any quieter. This was not a battle to save the world; you wanted to save him, from the coming storm, from God. But maybe from yourself and your thoughts, most of all.

Perhaps the still-naive part of you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that someone who loved music as dearly as you did, perhaps even more, could be anything less than good. You opened your mouth and you wanted to call him what he really was; murderer, liar, pretender,  _ traitor _ . But what finally came out was simply a plea:  _ Brett, why? _

_ - _

—You looked at him and you knew he’d been put on this earth to make sure you will never have a fighting chance.

He had been the only constant in your life ever since consciousness, in waking and in dreams. Shy, clingy, unfailingly gentle, perhaps too gentle, at least towards one like you.

You, who turned him into a monster, because you wanted to save him—from this wretched existence, untold lies, humanity itself. Memories were transience, and you knew that because you have lived this life again and again and again and again, without redemption. Love was nothing but a lie told to children to keep them in their places.

(If only you remembered you fell in love with him before you doomed both of you to this fate once more.)

You did not reach out to him because you had already lost that privilege and more; that of his arms around your shoulders from those carefree days, of playing duets with him in some sun-lit room, of finding refuge in his smile. That much was reflected in his eyes now, an aching burden of your own doing.

Of course, you already knew his answer to  _ Will you come with me, Eddy? _ as soon as it left your mouth, with the taste of fire and brimstone upon your tongue. And salt, something new, bitter and sharp that you would never again know for the blood on your hands,  _ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry _ . 


	2. a dream is a wish your heart makes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fateverse au, human mage eddy x pseudoservant brett (caster, guess the composer >:3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know nothing about actual fate lore bc i've only ever played fgo so don't @ me about inaccuracies please and thanks
> 
> cw: blood, light angst

There had been many things Eddy had wanted to do before the Holy Grail War. Too many to list, in fact: he’d wanted to travel, to perform, to live a mostly uneventful life outside of his violin. Eddy had never been interested in the machinations of his family, whatever lofty goals they had invested into the Mages’ Association. All he had ever wanted was to play music on his own terms, and yet.

He’s kneeling on the floor now, Brett’s hand in his. It had been folly to assume he’d been capable of achieving anything with participating in the war, with his own dreams—there were far more noble ones out there, but mages are selfish people all in all. “Are you...”

“Master, I’m fine.”

He’s not; Eddy knows he’s not, because he’s been like this since they were children. Hiding his own pain just to keep the smile on Eddy’s face. He hates it, and he sees just how exhausted Brett is lying there, on the floor of the church basement they’ve been using as a hideout spot. Just running away from Archer had taken so much energy that the only thing preventing him from disappearing entirely now was, perhaps, the fact that Eddy had fucked up and summoned a Servant into his still-living best friend. A small comfort.

—That was never supposed to happen. Brett was never supposed to have been pulled into this shit, and yet here they are.

“You’re _not_ fine,” Eddy says, voice breaking. A million thoughts thread through his mind; if only he’d been stronger, if only he’d been able to find a better catalyst, if only, _if only…_ “Don’t call me that, Brett. Please. You’ve done enough for me.”

“Sorry. Compulsion.” Brett’s hand brushes against his lips, and it’s back again, the tired smile on his face. In the flickering candlelight Eddy could still see blood dripping down his forearm, though whose it was he couldn’t tell anymore.

The decision takes less than a second; Eddy leans in, grabbing his wrist and pushing him back against the wall. If Brett is startled, he doesn’t show it—Eddy feels his fingers dig into his shoulder as he presses his lips upon the other’s, and the spark that passes between them is electric and immediate. Truth be told, he’s dreamt of this for far too long, only stopping himself for the situation they’ve found themselves in. He’s never wanted to force Brett into anything, even now when the inevitable is upon them.

Eddy doesn’t know what magic is supposed to taste like, if it’s supposed to be sweet instead of sour, or bitter or terrible like what it becomes when people die around him. That’s not the kind of thing his tutors would have deigned to teach him, but here, in this dusty basement, maybe this is the closest he’ll get to knowing. Brett’s lips are soft, and he could almost hear, in the distance, a familiar drumming—

“Eddy, that’s enough, I’ll— I’ll kill you like this—“

“No you won’t,” he starts to say, but Brett’s hand is against his chest now, then relaxing as the flow starts to cease, finally. Eddy feels lightheaded as he pulls away, half from the effort and half from the exhaustion of earlier events. The sluggishness is a small price to pay for what he sees: the rosier color on Brett’s cheeks as he draws Eddy close, an embrace without remuneration.

“Is he still there?”

“Yeah.” He watches as Brett sits upright, staring at the wound on his arm slowly close with morbid fascination. _They wanted someone powerful; I just wanted a concert_. “Just, sleeping, I guess? That was, uh—”

He falters, doesn’t finish the sentence. _A close call_. A gentle squeeze of the hand, acknowledgement of what had transpired. “Thank you, Eddy.”

_I’m still here, I want to be with you, I want to see the world together—_

Once they get out of here, perhaps, he will pretend to the world that this did never happened. That their relationship is just one like the others, a man and his weapon. That any emotions getting in the way of their shared goal would be nothing more than obstacles. 

But in this moment, tonight in Brett’s arms, Eddy will dare to dream for tomorrow.


	3. 問靈

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mo dao zu shi au because i like pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> repost from twitter, but reversed the characters because i think wwx!eddy and lwj!brett has potential also... :'v
> 
> cw: angst, character death (...if you know mdzs you'll know this is temporary, But.)

Sometimes you dream of him in your sleep still.

It is a bright morning. One of the younger disciples knocks on your door, hesitantly, as he's been taught: never bother Master Yang during his practice. The child leaves you breakfast quickly and without looking up, scurrying out of the room before you could thank his receding back.

You sigh.

The guqin feels heavy beneath your fingers, every string seemingly made out of iron as you tune them carefully. Only yesterday you had done this, and already things are seeming to come apart. Perhaps it is time to commission a new instrument, although...

You think about the pieces you would show your brother later today, but the melody of the qin in your head takes on another quality the more you think. The more you pluck the strings, you could almost hear the song of a flute weaving through the air.

Dust motes suspend around you as the rhythm slows to a trickle, a stream long run dry. You open your mouth, traitorous though it is, to pose an unanswerable question:

“Are you there?”

 _Tock_.

The air swirls briefly and settles, unwavering. Of course there is no one here with you, in a purified room, hidden high and far away in the Cloud Recesses. Away from—

One should always play in tune with nature. That was what your teacher always said. Furiously with the flames, high and freely with the wind. Mournful with the water, and for that night with a thousand torches stretching miles down every valley, a charnel hill of wailing ghouls.

He had smiled at you then, in that shy way reserved only for your eyes: _Don't worry about me. Go home._

_(I don't want you to see me do this.)_

A string snaps beneath your fingers, but you hardly feel the strike across the back of your hand.

"Please, answer me."

When you finally stop, moments or hours or days later, the rain has already begun to fall outside.


	4. l'appel du vide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> succubus!edwina/brettany :v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: suggestive-ish content ??

you see her dance in the shadows and think: that is where the light is. _that is the thing for you, isn't it, watching angels dance?_ but she is no angel; the dark hides all the places that are wrong and ghastly and strange, yet she shines so brightly still.

you take her hand, trembling. you say nothing because your lips are always traitors to your cause, around her. you feel the beat in your chest echoing long-lost cautions, that this will never end well, has never ended well. 

you don't care, in the end. 

(you have always been hers)

she leads you away. off the stage, where you have dueted with her and felt your soul pulled into her strings; off the steps, where you have tripped more than once into her arms. into the night, where you will stay.

in the night she will take you apart and love all the proud bitter pieces of you, each strand of your fresh-cut hair each vein each goosebump each muscle of your fingers. whisper your name in your ear and wait for you to cry out, _edwina_ , and she will love you like she plays the violin: turbulent, terrifying, transcendent.

you know this will be your demise: her lips gentle across your collarbone and breasts, her skin hot against yours. you will draw your hands across the small of her back and remember every curvature that you have roamed before. you let her, _so greedy_ , have all of you, each part that loves and loathes and lies. and you will savor each note of your destruction like you savor the lilt of her voice, your name on her tongue.

you forget the minutes as they trickle by your bare ankles, _adagio_ , aching. you forget your pride, only for her. you forget you are only human, and how fire loves fragile things.

(embrace gently and give yourself to her)

when the embers have cooled she will cup you in her hands and give supplication to all the fires that have come before, kiss the ashes that remain and those that scatter. you will know; you will hear her calling for you, and you will be content.

(as long as you’re happy, love)


End file.
